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Normale Version: Hast thou not seen an aged rifted tower,
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Hast thou not seen an aged rifted tower,
Meet habitation for the Ghost of Time,
Where fearful ravage makes decay sublime,
And destitution wears the face of power?

Yet is the fabric deck'd with many a flower
Of fragance wild, and many-dappled hue,
Gold streak'd with iron-brown and nodding blue,
Making each ruinous chink a fairy bower.

E'en such a thing methinks I fain would be,
Should Heaven appoint me to a lengthe'd age;
So old in look, that Young and Old may see

The record of my closing pilgrimage:
Yet, to the last, a rugged wrinkled thing
To which young sweetness may delight to cling!